The Long Night Series -- Telling
by Shipperx
Summary: Buffy is back from the dead and someone has to tell Angel. (S/B with small allusion to possible C/A)
1. Waiting

********************************************************************  
  
TITLE: Telling  
SPOILERS: The Gift. It's set somewhere near the beginning   
of Season 6. No real spoilers for the show. Buffy's back but   
beats me how. (This will be part of the series. Buckle up  
kiddies, it's going to be a long night in L.A.).  
SUMMARY: Buffy's back and someone has to tell Angel   
SHIP: S/B-UST  
DISTRIBUTION: Sure take it. Wouldn't mind knowing where  
you take it though.  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Never mine. They belong to Joss  
but I'm playing with them.  
  
************************************************  
  
There was a scuff on the toe of her shoe. Buffy wondered   
where she had gotten a scuff on the toe of her shoe. Then   
she wondered why she was staring at her shoe.   
  
When she glanced at the two people watching her, Buffy   
remembered why she was staring at her shoes. She was a   
freak--a big, whopping, undead freak. Well maybe not so big   
and not whopping at the moment, but she was definitely   
undead. . .although not in the way she usually used the word.   
No, Buffy was undead in the 'been there, done that, but not   
dead any more, non-vampire' way. The impossible sort of   
way...which brought her back to the whole 'freak' thing.   
  
She had been dead for four months. Four. Count them   
And now she wasn't. If that didn't have the letters   
F-R-E-A-K written all over it, then nothing ever would.  
  
Seconds ticked by, becoming minutes; then lots of   
minutes smooshed together as Buffy remained painfully   
aware of the man and woman watching her. Hello! Had   
no one taught them it was rude to stare at the freak?  
  
Finally the woman with the sweet Southern accent asked,   
"Would you like a Coke while you wait?"   
  
Buffy shook her head. "No. Thanks for the offer though."  
  
The man asked, "How about blood?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Red stuff. O positive. AB negative."  
  
"I know what blood is. Why are you offering it to me?"   
Because I'm a freak, Buffy thought. I'm a freak and it   
shows. I should go downtown and find a shop where they   
can tattoo it on my forehead.  
  
The woman with the improbable name of Fred nervously  
explained, "Gunn's just being polite. Everyone's got different   
tastes and you might like a Coke or...or..."  
  
"Pig's blood with Weetabix?" Buffy wasn't at all surprised  
when Gunn made a face.  
  
He groaned. "That's just nasty."  
  
"Having seen the combo, gotta agree with you, but   
you're the one offering it as a main course."  
  
"Hell no, I'm not." Gunn's Nikes squeaked as he  
started across the marble floor. "I'm trying to find out   
if you're a vampire."  
  
"Why would you think I'm a vampire?"  
  
Gunn--who was quite handsome in a tall, dark skinned,   
dark eyed, nicely muscled sort of way--crossed the  
Hyperion Hotel's lobby to sit in a leather upholstered   
chair. He looked almost as sulky as Angel usually did.   
No wonder they were friends.  
  
Buffy approached him. "Am I giving off vampy vibes or   
something? I know I don't look like a vamp--at least not   
your normal game faced vamp, but..." She touched her face.   
"Am I pale?" Some not very pleasant voice in her head   
snapped, Oh yeah, Buffy, being dead for four months was   
great for your complexion.  
  
Gunn shrugged. "Seen enough vamps to know they don't  
all look alike." His gaze settled on Buffy. "But you've   
got the look of an Angel vamp."  
  
"Huh?"   
  
"Blonde and petite, pretty little face that just might be   
deadly. Just Angel's type. Plus you showed up saying   
you're an old friend." Gunn turned his head toward  
Fred. "Cordy warn you that when someone from Angel's   
past shows up they're usually trying to kill us?"   
  
Fred shook her head. "I don't remember her mentioning   
that."  
  
"Well they are." He glared at Buffy. "And I'm really   
not in the mood to be killed."  
  
"I'm not trying to kill you."   
  
"That's what they all say. Then something happens and   
cute little blondie turns into bitch bent on destruction.   
First Darla--"  
  
"Darla's dead."  
  
"Then Harm--and if I didn't mention it before, the   
name is a perfect fit."  
  
"Harmony has been here?"  
  
Gunn frowned and...oh yeah, he looked intimidating   
when he frowned. "You know her?"   
  
"More than I would like," Buffy was quick to block the   
mental image of the last time she had seen Harmony.   
She really didn't want to trip down that memory lane.  
  
Gunn scratched his head. "What is it with Angel and   
blonde psychobitches? I know we're in LA but, does it   
*always* have to be a blonde? And I won't even touch the   
vampire thing since he is one. I'm just saying it would be   
easier on his friends if he'd stick to the living."  
  
"Right. Stick to dating the living. That's what I keep   
telling myself. It's a bloody mantra." Buffy slapped   
her hand over her mouth.   
  
What the hell? Where had that come from? A Spikism.  
Why had she uttered a Spikism? This was bad. This  
was very bad. Whole heaping gobs of bad.   
  
Buffy started again. "First off, I'm not a psychobitch,  
at least not until you piss me off which--hey, I'm half   
way there. Second of all, Harmony is a Spike ex, not   
an Angel ex. And third of all, Darla is dead."  
  
Gunn snorted. "Oh yeah, in a 'not very' vampire way."  
  
"No, in a permanent dusty way. Has been for years."   
  
"Not the last time I checked."  
  
Buffy blinked. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean not too long ago Darla and her crazy girlfriend   
Dru went on a lawyer luncheon catered by Angel. Then   
little Harm thought we were her ticket into a mass   
murdering cult. Now, if it's all the same to you, can   
we skip the 'let's play nice' phase and go straight to   
the killing? It'll save time."  
  
"No one is killing anyone tonight."  
  
Gunn rubbed his eyelids as if they pained him. "Don't   
say you're another vampire we're not supposed to kill   
because I'm sick of those--"  
  
"Here." Buffy held out her arm. "Check. Pulse and   
everything." She waited as he checked, and Buffy didn't  
blame Gunn for checking. In the last couple of days   
she'd checked her own pulse a couple hundred times.  
  
Gunn let go of her hand. "Okay, so you're among   
the living."  
  
"So I'm told." Buffy sank onto the sofa. "Look, it's   
like I told you, I'm here to see Angel. Nothing more."  
  
"And I told you he isn't here."  
  
"He'll be back though." Fred's smile was soft and shy.   
"He should be back real soon. And...um... I'm sure he'll   
be happy to see an old friend."  
  
Even Gunn's features lightened. "Especially if you aren't   
trying to kill us."  
  
Buffy forced herself to return their smiles. "Right.   
No killing. Promise." Her smile faded because that's what   
false smiles did. They faded. They disappeared. They   
ceased to matter and became distant, hazy memories...sort   
of like long lost friends.  
  
Why am I here? Buffy asked herself. Why am I sitting   
here talking to strangers when I could be home with Dawn?   
She wanted to be home with Dawn. She *should* be home   
with Dawn. Instead here she sat in L.A.   
  
Why?   
  
Oh yeah, because Angel deserved to be told in person   
that she was back from the dead. It wasn't like she could   
simply call and say, "Hey, Angel, good news. I'm not   
dead. What's going on with you?" No, Buffy needed   
to see him.   
  
Buffy sighed and leaned her head against the sofa. The   
problem was she *wasn't* seeing Angel. She was sitting in   
a hotel lobby talking to people she had never before met;   
and these people, these strangers, were Angel's friends. She   
was supposed to make polite small talk. She was supposed   
reassure Fred and Gunn she had no interest in killing them.  
She *wasn't* supposed to be tapping her foot and glaring   
at them impatiently...that part just came naturally.  
  
Okay, so Fred and Gunn were Angel's friends. Why had she  
never heard of them? After all Angel's life and her life...  
  
Buffy sighed. Angel's life and here life were completely   
separate things even before she died.  
  
Bad thought. Bad, bad thought. Throw it away and never   
think it again. Besides, not knowing Angel's friends   
didn't mean she *couldn't* know Angel's friends. All it   
would take was a little effort. A little time and patience.   
  
Quick. Make friends. Be approachable. Act interested.   
  
"How long have you known Angel?" she asked.  
  
Gunn shrugged. "Going on two years."  
  
That long?   
  
Buffy looked over at Fred who answered more vaguely, "Oh,   
um...it's sort of hard to say. I mean, time is relative, and with   
the differences in the way time flows in this dimension versus   
the way it flows in other dimensions." Fred paused. "Well, a   
few days in Pylea might be weeks here--"  
  
Buffy's eyebrows rose. "You're from another dimension?"   
  
"Yes." Fred nervously played with her hair. "That is,   
no. Actually, I'm from this dimension, but for a while   
I lived in another one." She took a deep breath and   
announced, "Three months."  
  
"You lived in another dimension for three months?"  
  
"No, I lived in another dimension for five years. I've   
known Angel for three months."  
  
Okay, headache now, Buffy thought. A Willow supersize  
Tylenol bottle headache.   
  
Maybe she *should* have called before showing up on   
Angel's doorstep. After all, that was the reason telephones   
had been invented...to, you know, tell people things--not that   
she and Angel had used it very much since they had parted   
ways.  
  
Buffy straightened her spine and tried very hard to   
shake off her feelings of. . .well she wasn't quite sure  
what she felt, but she tried to shake it off anyway.   
Besides, the fact she and Angel weren't giving AT&T, MCI,   
or Sprint much business didn't mean a thing. Not a damn   
thing. Some things, some relationships simply had to be   
handled face to face.   
  
So here she was, face to Angel's absence while Fred and  
Gunn sat staring at her.  
  
Buffy hated it. She hated making small talk. She hated  
waiting. She hating feeling weird and out of place. She felt   
weird enough without any help from incredibly awkward   
situations.  
  
Just once it would be nice if awkward moments could be   
avoided. Come to think of it, avoiding awkward moments   
should go on her 'to do' list. Near the top. More than once.   
It was just that no matter how hard Buffy tried, sooner or   
later--wham!--she ran straight into one. . .and she had   
definitely gone splat this time.  
  
Nope, this was not shaping into the joyous reunion  
Buffy would have planned if she could have. In her head  
Angel would have been waiting for her and he would have  
been so happy to see her--not Angelus happy, but happy   
enough to make the trip to L.A. worthwhile. Instead he  
was out doing whatever it is he did.   
  
It would be horribly unfair to blame Angel for that. He'd   
had no way of knowing she would show up. Angel thought   
she was dead!  
  
Okay, so it wouldn't have followed the script of a romantic   
movie, Buffy could have called and given Angel some warning.   
It would have been easier than sitting here waiting for him to   
show up. Then again, if there was an easy way and a hard   
way to do something, Buffy took the hard one. It was a curse.   
  
Buffy looked longingly at the coffee table and wondered   
whether banging her head against it would be any more  
painful than the silence or the conversation that  
had preceded it.  
  
"Is Cordy around?" she asked, and the look of impatience   
crossing Gunn's face reminded Buffy she'd asked the   
question a dozen times in the last half hour. "What about   
Wesley?"  
  
"They're out." Gunn actually looked like he might be  
grinding his teeth.   
  
Okay, I know I'm being annoying, but...but what?   
  
These people weren't her friends. They weren't even her   
acquaintances. They had no reason to tolerate her moods   
or be understanding about her disorientation. They didn't   
know she had been dead for four months. Gunn and Fred   
were Angel's friends, not hers. . .and again Buffy wondered  
how that could be. How could the people closest to Angel  
be people whose names she had never even heard? For that   
matter Buffy hadn't known Angel owned a hotel. And she   
certainly hadn't known Darla was back from the dead.   
Buffy would have remembered *that.*  
  
Buffy tilted her head slightly to one side. "How did Darla   
come back?"   
  
"Resurrection spell." Gunn sounded bored, like the   
answer was obvious or mundane or something.   
  
"Oh. One of those." Buffy tried to sound as blasé   
about it. She really did, except to her own ears she  
sounded like a big, bad liar. Coming back from the   
dead *was* a big deal, a very big deal. She knew these   
things. She'd done it . .but apparently so had Darla--a  
few times.  
  
Well, maybe I'm not such a freak after all, Buffy   
consoled herself. If Gunn could be sanguine about   
resurrection spells, maybe she could too.  
  
She waited.   
  
Nope. Wasn't working. Buffy remained more than slightly  
wigged.  
  
So what now?   
  
At the moment battling a horde of vampires sounded easier   
than sitting in the Hyperion's lobby making small talk. It   
would have been easier than gazing into Angel's face as   
he stood in the doorway looking more pale than usual,   
looking like he had seen a ghost, looking *worse* than if   
he had seen a ghost. . .looking like he was looking at her now.   
  
Buffy rose to her feet and Angel whispered her name. Just   
her name and nothing more, just "Buffy. . .?"  
  
Buffy couldn't speak so she gave a watery smile. She  
wanted to say, "Yeah, it's me. Here in the not quite so   
dead flesh." But she couldn't make the words come out.   
  
Suddenly Angel's face hardened and Buffy wondered why.   
  
"Are you a vampire?" he asked.  
  
Buffy glanced around in confusion. "Why does everyone   
keep asking that?"   
  
"You were dead and now you're not. That usually means   
vampire."  
  
Buffy was dumbstruck. How could Angel--*Angel*--ask   
what she was? How could he not sense it when--  
  
Stop. Don't go there, Buffy warned herself. Do *not*   
go there. Not even close.  
  
"She's not a vamp," Gunn reassured. "Checked her   
credentials. Living, breathing, pulse pounding--" He  
stopped mid-sentence and looked at her with an expression  
of shock. "Did he say your name was Buffy?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You were dead," Gunn accused.   
  
"So I've been told."  
  
"And now you're not."   
  
"Looks like."  
  
"How?"  
  
Buffy gave a weak smile. "Resurrection spell."  
  
Gunn seemed to weigh the comment for a moment then   
smiled. "Well thank God. Now homeboy there can give   
it a rest."   
  
Buffy glanced at Angel. He still hadn't moved. He   
looked so disbelieving, so scared of accepting the   
miracle standing in front of him.  
  
"I'm here," Buffy whispered.   
  
Well, duh! she thought. Of course she was here. It   
wasn't like she was someplace else. Couldn't she have   
thought of something more eloquent-ish?   
  
Angel didn't seem to mind. He crossed the room with   
blurry speed and wrapped Buffy in his arms. Nice arms.   
Strong arms. Familiar arms.   
  
It felt good.   
  
Angel buried his face in Buffy's hair, breathing in her  
scent as his arms tightened around her, enveloping   
her, pulling her into the solid wall of his chest,   
holding her so tightly that Buffy couldn't breathe.   
Oh well. At that moment Buffy really didn't care   
about breathing. She just wanted to be held. It   
felt good to be held. It was overwhelming.  
  
*This* was of the good, Buffy thought rubbing her  
cheek against Angel's silk shirt. Angel, she thought.   
Angel, I'm here. I'm here and I'm alive and...and...  
  
And what? What now? an evil little voice asked.  
  
Go away, voice. Go far away. Now I hug him. Now I  
remember why I'm so happy to be here and not dead   
and in Sunnydale.   
  
Well no. Actually, she wasn't happy to not be in   
Sunnydale. Sunnydale was home...not that LA was bad.   
It just wasn't home. LA was a nice, and home was...nice.   
It was just that LA was LA and home was...well...*home.*  
  
Buffy! A different, somewhat strident inner voice screamed.   
Focus! This is Angel. Angel's arms are around you. Hug   
him. Feel him. Love him. Sheesh! How hard is that to   
remember?  
  
Angel kissed her forehead as Buffy sank into his embrace.   
She lost herself in him. It was what she had come here   
to do. To hold Angel and tell him...tell him...uh...hmmm.   
Other than the 'not dead' part, what was she supposed to   
tell him?  
  
Buffy didn't know.   
  
Well thank God, Angel wasn't the questioning type. Not   
like other, not so pleasant vampires Buffy could name but   
wouldn't. No, she wouldn't! Not now that she was in   
Angel's arms. Not when this was where she was supposed   
to be. Where she *wanted* to be. And, yes damnit, she   
was happy that Angel seemed quite content to simply hold   
her.  
  
It was nice. Buffy liked--no loved--the way Angel held   
her as seconds passed. Minutes passed. Many minutes, and   
somewhere along the way the sense of relief passed and   
ran headlong into awkward silence followed by the painful  
realization that they had stood there so long that there   
was no graceful way to separate. The moment had passed.  
  
Now what? The evil little voice asked again.  
  
Angel was the first to pull away.   
  
Wasn't he always?  
  
He pulled back and framed her face with his hands. For   
a moment Buffy thought Angel would kiss her. It was always   
good when he kissed her. It made her ache with unfulfilled   
longing--which was a good thing, right? It was unquenched   
desire. Unfulfilled need. It was the kind of thing that   
filled a person up and somehow still left them wanting.   
Begging. . .  
  
Angel didn't kiss her. He stepped back.   
  
And now for the questions Buffy thought. Lots of questions.  
The who, what, when, where, and why of Journalism 101...not  
that Buffy had taken Journalism 101, not that she was sure  
they taught a Journalism 101. Hey, she had just come back  
from the dead. It wasn't as easy as it looked!  
  
Angel didn't ask questions. He just looked at her, watched   
her with his dark, unfathomable eyes as he brushed a tear   
from her cheek.  
  
And that's a good, Buffy told herself. It's unspoken   
communication. It's silent understanding. It shows   
we're so connected that we don't need words even if,   
you know, words would be kind of nice to break up the   
teeth grindingly awkward silence.  
  
It was just silence had *not* been the general reaction   
to Buffy resurrection. Willow had burst into tears. Not   
nice pretty tears like in the movies but loud, choking,   
red nosed tears; and Xander had been much the same just   
before they both rushed her for a tag team hug. Willow   
and Xander arms were definitely of the good.   
  
Anya, who perhaps had seen everything in her thousand plus  
years of existence, and had only smiled, nodded and said,   
"It's very nice to have you back. Do you like yellow? I'm   
thinking of having my bridesmaids wear yellow. Blondes   
usually don't like to wear yellow, but bridesmaids aren't   
supposed to like their dresses so that would be okay. You  
will be my bridesmaid, right? Have you seen my ring?" Anya   
had held out her hand. There had been a diamond ring on it.   
  
Xander blushed and stammered and mumbled--all things he   
would later deny. It was goofy and cute, and Buffy could   
tell that despite his embarrassment Xander was quite happy.   
Anya, of course, was ecstatic. She had a mountain of   
magazines, clippings and two copies of Martha Stewart's   
advice on weddings. Anya had then promptly dragged Xander   
to the mall saying they were scheduled to register for   
gifts.   
  
It was only after Xander and Anya had left the magic shop  
that Buffy had been told about Giles leaving the country.  
He was a Watcher and without Buffy there was no Slayer to  
watch. Willow had also admitted to thinking that after  
Buffy's death living in Sunnydale had hurt Giles. It had   
made him feel worse about everything so returning to   
London had been good for him. The last time Willow had   
spoken to him Giles had sounded...better.  
  
After Buffy had called her Watcher, she was fairly   
certain Giles had sounded better still. Oh, he had   
questions. He wasn't happy about Willow playing with   
such powerful magics. He had warned of the terrible,   
awful things that could but--thank God--hadn't happened   
with her resurrection. He had babbled. . .but in a good   
way, in a happy way. And when Buffy had asked him about   
London he had talked about the politics within the   
Watchers Council, about a haunted house he had been   
hired to de-spook, about stopping a blood sacrifice ritual at   
the founding of the new Hellfire Club at Cambrige...or had it   
been Oxford? Buffy had never been able to tell the two apart,   
but it really didn't matter. Giles had sounded happy, energized,   
and busy. Very busy. It was a good thing.  
  
Dawn had simply tackled her. She'd given a loud,   
ear piercing teenaged girl shriek and tackled Buffy   
like she was a member of N'Sync or something. "Ohmygod!   
Ohmygod! Buffy! Buffy, I missed you." Tight sqeeeze.   
Bruised rib squeeze. Wonderful squeeze. Buffy had brushed   
her hand across Dawn's hair, feeling the silky texture   
and something inside Buffy had clenched. It just   
clenched and hurt and ached in an awesome, happy   
sort of way.   
  
Words had tumbled out of Dawn and out of herself. Words   
and more words. Hours of them. Happiness had ensued and   
all was good with the world.  
  
Really. It was good, but it's a proven fact that   
teenagers have short attention spans. At least   
Buffy thought it had been proven. Honestly, she thought   
she had once seen a report about it on CNN, or maybe it   
was FOX. She wasn't sure, but it didn't matter. It was   
just that twenty-four hours after her miraculous return   
from the dead Dawn had begun behaving as though Buffy had   
*never* been dead. Life went back to normal... or what   
passed for normal for an almost orphaned Slayer and   
Mystical Glowy Key thing. Dawn had lit up, laughed,   
talked, and made a bee-line for the phone to call her   
best friend and schedule a trip to the mall to shop for   
school clothes. . .which was great. It was reassuring.   
Everything just slipped back into place as if nothing   
had ever been out of place in the first place.  
  
Ugh!   
  
Who was she kidding? It had been anti-climactic,  
and it had made Buffy feel out of sync with everyone  
around her. *Their* world was right again. With   
Buffy's return they had been given a free trip to   
Happyville where after a few moments for readjustment  
they were off to continue with their lives.   
  
For Buffy it wasn't that easy.  
  
Hello! Something had happened here. Something she  
couldn't quite process. She had just returned from the   
dead for God's sake! Didn't that mean anything?   
  
Buffy had brooded about that as Dawn made plans to   
spend the night with her friend. Gee, her sister returns   
from the dead. They have this great, tearful, stay up   
all night reunion, and the next day Dawn was arranging   
sleepovers leaving Buffy alone with nothing to do   
but think. She hated thinking.  
  
It was somewhere around that point that Buffy had become  
aware of the fact she had touched bases with all Scoobies   
but one. . .only he wasn't a Scooby. Not really. Not even   
close actually. He was a one time mortal enemy who for  
some reason no longer was--an enemy that is. But that   
didn't make him a Scooby. . .just something. Buffy   
couldn't define what that something might be, but it   
was real and it existed and where the hell was he?   
  
Spike had been conspicuous in his absence, mainly because   
his absence was so damn rare. Spike always had a way   
of, you know, being around. Constantly. He was the   
ultimate 'thing that would not leave'...so why hadn't   
he been around making a nuisance of himself?   
  
It wasn't like his name hadn't been mentioned. It had.  
Willow had said. . .something. Buffy couldn't pinpoint   
what. Will's words had been quiet and muffled and sort   
of vague. Dawn had mentioned his name several times,   
always adding how thrilled he would be. But Buffy hadn't   
seen him. She hadn't spoken to him. She had been   
avoiding the very thought of him.   
  
Left sitting alone on a Friday night, a person's mind   
could wander to unexpected places, and Buffy's had   
wandered to a certain annoying vampire named Spike.  
  
When Buffy had found Spike, he had looked like hell.   
Hell on earth that is. He had been covered in blue goo.  
Icky, stinky blue goo because he had just ripped the   
head off a demon and...well, head ripping in general   
tended to be messy business. Spike had then kicked   
the headless corpse.  
  
"I think you won," she had drawled.  
  
"Hyeah, but you never know. Some demons are hard to ki--"   
Spike had stopped mid sentence. He had turned. A light   
had entered his eyes and--  
  
  
TBC  
  



	2. Questioning

  
  
"So how did this happen?" Gunn's question snapped Buffy   
back to the present, the Hyperion hotel/L.A. present. He   
scratched his ear. "I mean, I get the whole resurrection spell   
thing..." He paused. "Actually, I don't get the whole resurrection   
spell thing. Care to explain?"  
  
Buffy wished she could. "It's complicated. Will did it."  
  
Angel's brows drew down over his eyes in a concentrated  
frown. "Willow brought you back?"  
  
Buffy nodded as Gunn pressed, "If the redhead can do   
that...Look, death doesn't come with a rewind button.  
It can't be that easy. If it was, no one would die."  
  
"It wasn't that easy." Buffy sighed and looked away.   
"I don't have answers. I don't understand it. I wish I did,   
but I don't."  
  
"So you're saying we should ask the witch."  
  
"I don't think even Willow understands what happened.   
She said it was like the time she re-souled Angel. Something   
else took over. Something that wasn't her." Buffy shrugged.   
"Willow tried to explain but she once tried to explain Chem II,   
and I didn't understand that either. What I did understand was   
the only reason the spell worked was because I didn't die in   
a mortal way."  
  
Angel interrupted. "I thought you fell from a tower."  
  
"I did, but it wasn't the fall that killed me."  
  
Angel's face was unreadable, still and fixed. "Then   
how did you die?"  
  
Buffy's brows rose. "Don't you know?"  
  
Angel didn't answer so Gunn answered instead. "Your  
friend, Willow, she just said it was a fight. An apocalypse."  
  
"That's all she said?"  
  
"She was pretty upset. And after that so was--" Gunn   
glanced at Angel. "It didn't seem like the time for long   
winded explanations. Usually dead means dead.   
Doesn't matter how."  
  
"How?" Angel asked, and still his face was like   
carved stone.  
  
Buffy searched for a way to explain. "It was an apocalypse.   
A hellgod named Glory wanted to open the gates of   
hell. . ."   
  
Because, you know, that's what hellgods did with gates  
to hell. Familiar story, actually. We did this a few   
years ago. You remember don't you, Angel?  
  
Shut up, evil voice, Buffy commanded. Just shut up.  
It wasn't the same thing.  
  
No, Glory just wanted to go home. Angelus specifically  
wanted to take the whole world with him.  
  
I *said* shut up! I could live without turning into  
schizophrenic Buffy, you know.  
  
"How?" Angel asked again.  
  
What did she look like? Exposition woman? Speech  
making was *so* not her job. Buffy left speeches to Giles   
or Spike or even Anya who could pop out with some really   
strange ones because she had a vast and varied knowledge   
of all things demony. But Buffy? Explaining things was   
not listed under the Slayer job description. Beating   
things up? That she could do.  
  
Besides explaining the Glory mess meant explaining  
things like The Key and Dawn and memories that weren't  
real. No wonder Willow had avoided going into specifics.  
No wonder that even before she had died, Buffy hadn't  
explained things to Angel. . .even on the night when he   
had sat with her beside her mother's grave.  
  
Dawn and Angel were two things that didn't go together,  
mainly because Angelus had terrorized Dawn during his  
not quite sane and very evil phase. Oh, Buffy knew none   
of the "Angelus kidnapped Dawn" thing actually happened.   
Angelus hadn't *really* slipped into her home and   
dragged her little sister to the mansion on the edge of   
town. Angel hadn't really left Dawn 'playing dolls'   
with Drusilla, which anyone who knew Drusilla knew   
must have been a horrifying experience. Those memories   
were Monk manufactured just like the one saying Spike   
had produced an unharmed but mightily pissed off Dawn   
as evidence of his desire for a truce with the Slayer.   
  
"See, Slayer, lil' Sis all in one neat non-bloody   
package. Now, no staking, right?"  
  
Sometimes Buffy wondered about the way events had  
actually unfolded--you know, without the whole 'Dawn   
being inserted' part, but somehow Buffy thought the   
Monks had kept fairly close to actual events.   
  
Giles had once offered the theory that the Monks hadn't   
made any memories at all, that they--meaning herself,   
the Scoobs, and even Dawn--had made their own memories.   
The monks had simply cast a spell around Dawn so that   
anyone presented with her had to reconcile Dawn's   
existence. Real memories shifted to accommodate Dawn  
...or something like that. Buffy was often a bit vague   
when it came to magic, but Giles had made his point.   
Whatever the differences between truth and fiction, the   
thoughts, feelings, and motivations had remained roughly   
the same.  
  
In any event, Dawn was not Angel's biggest fan. She  
probably placed fourth in the 'who cannot tolerate Angel'  
contest, somewhere behind Spike, Xander, and Giles (though   
not necessarily in that order). Maybe fifth if Riley counted.  
  
Anyway, explaining Glory, the Key, the monumentally   
unsuccessful big 'fraidy runaway, her brain freeze, and   
the last terrible night was just too much. Buffy couldn't   
do it so she talked about her swan dive into the portal   
and a life force drain.   
  
Stripping the Glory saga of its detail (and any mentions  
of Spike because Buffy was *so* not up to explaining that)   
made it a very short action feature. Big fight. Big loss.   
Dead. Crying and self recriminations to follow. Only now   
the crying was over and here she stood all not dead.   
  
Angel still didn't look happy.   
  
No, that wasn't quite fair. He had looked glad that  
she was there, it was just there was something else  
shadowed his face. It was dark and sad and kind of   
broody.  
  
Angel swallowed and said in a choked, raspy voice,   
"I'm sorry."  
  
Huh? Then Buffy said it out loud. "Huh?" She felt fuzzy   
headed and confused. "What do you have to be sorry   
about? I'm here."  
  
Angel shook his head. "But I wasn't there. I wasn't there   
and you needed me."  
  
"What? No. I mean--" What did she mean? Suddenly   
Buffy thought she had to find the words, the *right*  
words. "There's nothing you could have done. No  
way you could have changed things."  
  
"You don't know that."  
  
"Yes, I do. It ended the way it had to. I was the only   
one who could have closed the portal. It had to be me."   
Or Dawn, but that would require the whole 'Key' explanation  
again, and Buffy had deliberately skipped it the first time.   
At Angel's questioning glance Buffy added lamely, "There  
was a prophecy. . .sort of."  
  
Angel still looked pained even as he turned away. Why did   
he turn away?  
  
"Maybe I could have changed things." His voice was low and   
deep. "Maybe I was supposed to be there." Angel glanced at  
Buffy over his shoulder. "I could have done things the others   
couldn't. Xander, Willow, Giles--they aren't fighters."  
  
"You couldn't have changed things." And you couldn't  
have done anything Spike didn't do, Buffy thought but  
didn't say it--not because it wasn't true but because she   
couldn't say it out loud...not to Angel. Buffy stood at a   
loss for words wanting to help Angel, to stop Angel from   
brooding and feeling guilty but not having a clue how to do   
so.  
  
Gunn stood and crossed the room. "You can't keep   
doing this to yourself," he told Angel sternly. "She just  
told you that you couldn't have changed things."  
  
Angel opened his mouth to speak but Gunn stopped him.  
"No. I've tried saying this before but you weren't listening.   
Now you're gonna listen. You couldn't be two places at once   
any more than I could. Remember just before our trip to   
demonland one of my old crew died."  
  
Angel looked stricken. "Gunn, I'm sorry."  
  
"No, don't be sorry. That's not the point. For a long  
time I thought I should have been with the guys when  
it all down. They asked me to go with them but I chose to  
go out kicking demon butt with you and English. Now, I don't   
know how much of a difference I might have made with my old   
crew, but I'd like to think I made a difference for us."  
  
Gunn faced Buffy. "Now correct me if I'm wrong, but  
you didn't ask for Brood Boy's help, now didjya?"  
  
Buffy hated to meet Angel's eyes. She hated that he  
felt guilty, and she hated saying, "No. I didn't ask."  
  
"And you don't really think he could have made much   
difference in the whole hellbitch battle."  
  
All Buffy could do was shake her head. No. Angel   
couldn't have changed what had happened. *Nothing*   
could have changed what happened. Death had been   
her gift.  
  
That seemed to be enough for Angel's friend. "Now see,  
we can sit here all night wondering what you might have  
done with blondie," Gunn told Angel. "We'll never know.   
But obviously she really didn't need you to save the   
world because this world is still here. And now she's   
here. If you ask me things turned out okay in the end."   
  
Angel looked frustrated and angry. "That's not the   
point."  
  
"Isn't it? No offense." Gunn tilted his head toward Buffy.   
"I'm sure blondie here is a great girl, but I happen to think   
that Cordy and Fred rate pretty high on the great people   
scale. Buffy is standing here without any help from you,   
but Cordy and Fred wouldn't be. Besides--"   
  
When Gunn stood face to face with Buffy he towered over  
her. He was one big guy. He asked, "You didn't fight   
alone, did you? You had backup, right?"  
  
Buffy felt Angel's gaze on her. "No, I wasn't alone,"   
she admitted, then with more conviction because she   
felt Angel needed to hear it to assuage some of his  
unnecessary guilt. "I wasn't alone, Angel. It wasn't   
by myself. I had help. I had. . ." Buffy took a deep  
breath. "Everyone fought with me. It was a team effort."  
  
Gunn nodded. "See. She had help. But if Cordy hadn't   
had us, who would she have had? That Groosalug guy?"  
  
Angel glowered and scoffed. "That Groosalug guy? Please.  
Cordy could do so much better than that. Besides, he wasn't  
all *that* tough. I beat him didn't I?" Angel glanced at Buffy and   
cleared his throat. "Uh. . .we don't need to go into any of that   
right now."  
  
Gunn shrugged. "Fine with me as long as it's through   
your thick vampire skull that Cordy would have been lost   
in that place if we hadn't gone after her, and Fred, here,   
would have been stuck in slavery or dead. Buffy may or   
may not have needed you. Cordy and Fred definitely *did.*"  
  
There. It was a simple, straight forward and oh so believable  
argument. Buffy believed it. It sounded and felt. .. right.   
Things had happened the way they were supposed to have   
happened. "Your friend is right," Buffy concurred softly.  
  
"Damn straight, I'm right. I know I'm right and if you  
have any doubt, think about this. Those freaky Powers That   
Be that send Cordy her visions sent you looking for Fred  
not to go have some big fight with your ex-girlfriend." Gunn   
paused. "That didn't come out right."  
  
"I think it came out pretty good," Buffy told him.  
  
Angel's head was bent and he seemed to be thinking.  
  
Buffy approached him. She touched his arm. "It's okay,   
Angel. I'm okay. The world's okay. And because of you,   
Cordy and Fred are okay too."  
  
Fred nodded. "I'm definitely okay. I'm home and they still   
have tacos, and I don't have that thing around my neck that   
could make my head explode. That's all good."  
  
Buffy smiled. "See. Good stuff."  
  
Angel shook his head. "You're letting me off easy, Buffy.   
Again."  
  
"No, I'm not. I'm just being realistic and pragmatic  
and a few other icky things. You did what you had  
to do. We all do. There's no blame here. There's no   
reason for you to feel guilty. It's a guilt free zone." And I   
don't need another guilt ridden vampire running around, Buffy   
thought. She had enough problems with Spike feeling guilty   
about what had happened. On the other hand, Buffy was   
kind of used to Angel feeling guilty about stuff. Spike   
feeling guilty was just way weird.   
  
Focus, Buffy. Deal with Angel in the here and now. She   
looked at him hopefully. "Are we okay yet? Please, say   
we're okay. I want that."  
  
Angel gave a small smile. "If it's what you want."  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
His smile grew and -- wow, it reached all the way to  
his eyes. "I'm glad you're back, Buffy."   
  
Buffy released the breath she hadn't even known she  
was holding. "Yeah, me too."  
  
"I'm sure everyone is glad you're back."  
  
Oh, they were. It wasn't exactly an emotion they hid.   
Big smiles. Big tears. Group hugs. Hey, even Angel   
had produced a smile. A small one, but it was a smile   
that for once reached his eyes which was very out of  
the ordinary. Usually when Buffy looked into Angel's   
eyes she came away wondering, "What is he thinking?"  
  
Angel had never been Mr. Availability where his private  
thoughts were concerned. He was the original mystery   
man, which was wonderfully intriguing except for the   
fact Buffy wasn't Nancy Drew. Buffy fought evil head  
on, leaving very little time for mysteries. Plus, she   
wasn't exactly emotional insight woman. Look at the   
whole "clueless about Riley" catastrophe.   
  
No, the Buffster was not good at reading people, that   
was why it was easier when people reacted by...you   
know, *reacting.* Take her confrontation with Spike   
a few hours ago. There Spike had stood covered in   
stinky blue goo as she pronounced him winner of the   
demon beheading contest.   
  
Spike had blinked and light had filled his eyes. No,   
seriously, it was like someone had turned on a floodlight  
inside him. Don't ask her how it was possible. First,  
Buffy was well aware it wasn't physically possible; and,   
second, it wasn't some supernatural light so don't go down   
that path. No, it was more like the energy and emotion   
that always bubbled inside Spike had exploded into life   
and radiated from his eyes--but not in a Xander X-Men   
Cyclops way.  
  
"You're here." Spike's voice had been soft and incredulous.   
"You're really here. And it's the real you." How Spike had   
known, Buffy wasn't sure. But he *had* known, and he had   
laughed, a mad, delighted, full throated laugh as he jumped on   
top of a headstone and howled to the night, "Look out kiddies,   
the Slayer is back where she belongs." Gazing at her with   
dancing blue eyes he had murmured, "Fanfuckingtastic."  
  
TBC  



	3. Seeing

  
Buffy had laughed. There was something just a bit absurd   
in the world's most renowned Slayer killer standing on   
a granite headstone yelling his uncontained joy at her   
return. When Buffy had explained that Willow had   
brought her back, Spike had laughed again. "Red's one  
frighteningly awesome witch when she's wound up, isn't  
she?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
No one would ever call Spike emotionally reticent.   
Buffy never needed to wonder what Spike was feeling.   
Most of the time he announced it, or, if by some miracle   
he wasn't in a chatty mood, what he felt was written   
in his eyes.   
  
Buffy wondered when she had first noticed that Spike's   
eyes were blue. She didn't know when, just as she didn't   
know why she had ever thought they were dark and   
expressionless in the first place. Of course Spike was   
a vampire, and Buffy didn't make a habit of gazing  
deeply into a vampire's eyes looking for feelings. . .but   
maybe she should have.   
  
Spike gave away his secrets with his eyes.  
  
It figured that Buffy would discover this useful bit of   
information at this late date. It would have come in   
handy during the days when she and Spike had been   
trying to kill each other. . .only Buffy somehow doubted   
that in the old days she would have been allowed to see  
naked emotion laid bare in the shadowy blue depths. He'd  
had more defenses then.  
  
"You're back," Spike had repeated and, oh yeah, he  
expressed stuff with his eyes. He expressed all over.   
"Do the Scoobs know? We've *got* to tell Niblet--"  
  
"She knows. They all know."  
  
Spike had paused, his black leather duster settling   
around him as he jumped to the ground. "Everyone?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Oh." Some of the light had died in his eyes.   
  
It was that expressive thing again. As Spike's inner   
light dimmed, Buffy knew she had hurt him...which was   
weird and nuts and should have been impossible but   
wasn't.   
  
When in the hell had she begun wondering whether   
Spike's feelings had been hurt? When had she begun   
thinking he *had* feelings?  
  
Um...always, her inner evil voice noted.  
  
Oh, not the part where she had worried about hurting   
his feelings just the part where she had known he  
had them. After all, when Spike had shown up asking   
for a truce to 'save the world' there had been a flash   
of something in his eyes that said Dru's actions had   
wounded him.   
  
That wasn't supposed to be, right?   
  
Nothing about Buffy had made an impact on Angelus  
--other making him hate her more violently--and that   
had been because Angelus was a soulless vamp. He had   
been incapable of feeling, but there had stood Spike,   
equally soulless, showing real pain over Dru's   
infidelity and talking about saving the world. Yes,   
Spike's motivations had been selfish, but even   
selfishness was a human emotion. It meant caring   
about something.   
  
Yeah, so? Buffy's strident psyche mocked. She had   
always known Spike felt *something,* she just wasn't   
supposed to care what that something might be. His   
feelings weren't supposed to matter to Buffy any more  
than her feelings were supposed to matter to Spike.  
  
"I couldn't live her bein' in that much pain. I'd let   
Glory kill me first."  
  
Her. Buffy. And Spike had meant it. Buffy knew Spike   
had meant it. He had been willing to die for her.  
  
Okay! Buffy had surrendered to the memory. Spike *did*   
care what she felt, and as she had stood in the cemetery,   
Buffy had found herself squirming at his kicked puppy   
expression even as he valiantly fought to hide it.  
  
"So I'm last to know, eh." Spike had searched his   
pockets for a cigarette.   
  
"Well, not last exactly," At Spike's arched brow Buffy  
had added, "I haven't called L.A. yet."  
  
He had breathed out a thin cloud of gray smoke. "So   
that's what's wrong."  
  
"Wrong? Did I say anything was wrong?"  
  
"Didn't need to. You're standing here with me instead  
of out celebrating with your friends. Can't say wrong  
doesn't factor in there somewhere."  
  
Buffy had crossed her arms over her chest. "For your   
information the 'Buffy is Back' bash is scheduled  
for tomorrow night." And oooh! See the pretty   
lifeline. It had hung right in front of her. "And   
I'm here to invite you."  
  
It had been worth saying it just to see a look  
of shock cross Spike's face. "It's not nice to fool   
the Big Bad," he had warned.  
  
"Who's fooling?"  
  
Spike had closed his eyes. "Niblet must've forced you.   
I've been her project lately."  
  
"This is a project free offer. Nib...um...Dawn had   
nothing to do with it. I thought this one up all   
by myself." Right there on the spot as a matter   
of fact.  
  
"Mmm-hmm."   
  
"What?!"   
  
"Slayer, just go ahead say what's wrong."  
  
Damnit, how could Spike always see through her as if  
she was made of glass?   
  
"Why does anything have to be wrong for me to show   
up--" Buffy had stopped as it hit. Something had to be   
wrong for her to show up looking for Spike because   
something was *always* wrong when she showed up looking   
for Spike. Dawn was missing, or she needed information,   
or she needed help stealing a RV for the big 'fraidy run   
away. It was always something.  
  
Spike had dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed   
it with his heel. "So what is it, Slayer? Why are you   
here rather than at home?"  
  
"Alone," she had interjected. "If I was home, I'd  
be alone. Dawn's spending the night at a friend's.   
Willow and Tara are at some Wiccan lecture. And Anya   
has Xander picking out china."  
  
Spike had frowned, and Buffy had been quick to explain,   
"I mean, we had the big hug and tears scene. Everyone   
was happy to see me. Dawn and I stayed up talking   
until sunrise last night. And there *will* be a big   
Buffy is Back bash tomorrow at the Bronze--and you   
*are* invited by the way. It's just that tonight   
everyone had previously arranged plans."  
  
"'Cept me."  
  
"Well, yeah, but that's not the reason I'm here."  
  
Demons always chose the most inconvenient times to  
attack, and that had been the moment the Lazuli   
demons had chosen.   
  
It turned out the headless corpse at Spike's feet   
had buddies--three to be exact. Demon One had tackled   
Spike. Demon Two had launched himself at Buffy. And   
Demon Three had stood in the middle of the fray looking   
uncertain about who to attack first. Not that it   
mattered because the trio had bitten off far more than   
they could chop, chew, or kill.   
  
The fight had taken less than four minutes and ended   
with Spike covered in yet more goo, Buffy examining   
the bottom of her shoes hoping that goo stuff could  
be easily scraped off, and Demon Three running   
screaming from the graveyard.  
  
Buffy had looked down at her pants in dismay.  
"You know, I bet this stuff stains."  
  
"Probably." Spike had shown a complete lack of   
concern for her outfit. "So why are you here?"  
  
"I don't know. I thought I'd drop by and tell you I   
wasn't dead. For some reason I thought you might   
like to hear it."  
  
"I do like to hear it," he had protested. "I could  
hear it all night, tomorrow night and the next day   
besides. You could repeat it for the next two bloody   
weeks and I wouldn't tire of hearin' it. But if you're   
standing there saying nothing is wrong, you're full   
of it. I can see it on you, Slayer."  
  
"I've got blue goo on me."  
  
"Slayer! What is it?"  
  
Oh, Spike was so damn good at confrontation, at calling   
her out, at not allowing her to live in the land of   
denial. "I'm not dead!" Buffy had screamed.  
  
Spike had blinked, and she had prepared herself for the   
next quip, the next witticism, the next barb. It didn't   
come. Instead he had quietly asked, "You're bothered   
by that, aren't you?"  
  
"By the 'not being dead' or the 'dying' part? Because   
I'm having a hard time deciding which one bothers   
me more."  
  
Spike had sighed and sat on a doublewide headstone.  
He had patted the place beside him and slowly,  
reluctantly Buffy had taken the offered seat.  
  
"So talk," he had instructed.  
  
"I died."  
  
"I noticed."  
  
"No, I mean I *died.* Not like that time with the   
Master. Not a few minutes and--wham--thank goodness   
someone invented mouth to mouth resuscitation. I'm   
talking dead, buried, over and done."  
  
"I got that part. Believe me. I was there, pet." Spike   
had tilted his head and watched her. "This bothers   
you. Guess I can see how it might."  
  
"Oh yeah, I'm bothered."  
  
"It's stressful, disorienting."  
  
"As if you would know."  
  
Spike had rolled his eyes heavenward. "Oh right, 'cause   
what would I know about dyin' what with being a vampire   
and all."  
  
"Did they bury you?" Buffy had suddenly asked.  
  
"Wha'?"  
  
"You know, six feet under with dirt on top."  
  
"Nah." At her glance he had clarified. "Family crypt."  
  
"And now you live in one. That's...kind of creepy,   
actually."  
  
"I *am* a vampire, pet."  
  
But Buffy hadn't really heard Spike. Oh, she had heard   
him. She just hadn't listened very closely. "You guys   
buried me. She saved the world a lot."  
  
"Hmm, yeah. Harris did the engraving. Thought it   
was appropriate."  
  
Buffy had stared at the gravestone in front of her  
and tried to make out the letters in the darkness   
but couldn't. "I dug myself out of that grave. Just   
like. . ."  
  
After seconds of silence Spike had finished the   
sentence for her. "Just like the blokes you dust in   
this graveyard night after night." He had cocked his   
head to the side and looked straight at her. "Is that   
what's bothering you? 'Cause if it is let me tell   
you, you aren't a vampire."  
  
"Oh yeah, I just rose from the dead and that happens   
to so many people who aren't vampires."  
  
"Well, we could ask a few zombies." She had punched   
him in the shoulder and he had chuckled. "Hey,   
watch it! The leather takes enough abuse as it is."  
  
"I'm serious, Spike."  
  
"I know you are, love, and I also know you aren't a   
vampire. And I'm not just talkin' about the fact that   
the night you died there was only one vampire around who   
could've done the job." Spike had suddenly looked away,   
his posture uncharacteristically stiff. "And I wouldn't   
have done that to you."  
  
"This coming from the creature who threatened to  
kill me like a thousand times."  
  
"Turning is different than killing," he had said   
seriously. "It's worse."  
  
The silence between them had been tense and maybe even   
a bit profound. It had scared the crap out of her so   
Buffy had shaken herself and quipped, "I don't know  
why I even brought it up. I can walk in sunlight. I   
checked."  
  
"There you go."  
  
Buffy had shifted anxiously. "But not technically   
being a vampire doesn't mean I'm the same as before."  
  
Spike had looked at Buffy with piercing blue eyes.   
"You're *you.*" He had pronounced it so distinctly  
that Buffy had hard time doubting him.  
  
"Sure about that?" No way would she ever, *ever*  
admit how badly she had needed to hear Spike's  
answer.  
  
"Dead sure. Do you feel like you?"  
  
Buffy had shrugged. "Sort of, but what does that  
matter?"  
  
"It matters." Spike had fished another cigarette out   
of his pocket and lit it.   
  
"When you become a vampire parts of you go missing. You   
know it right off, from the moment you wake up with   
bloodlust screaming in your head. There's no debating   
with it. There's no ignoring it. All the rational   
thought in the world doesn't make it go away--" Spike   
had stopped and there was a bright speck of red in the   
darkness as he had taken a drag off his cigarette. When   
Spike had started to speak again, his voice had been   
low and deep and haunted. "You remember what you were.   
You think the same thoughts so you know those urges   
weren't there before."  
  
At Buffy's questioning frown Spike had explained. "It's   
not like your memory is wiped clean. Up here--" he had   
pointed to his head "--you're the same person.   
Intellectually you can even be horrified by what you   
do, by what you *want* to do. But the urge is so   
strong, and...and parts of you are missing."   
  
"You make it sound like you're at war with yourself."  
  
"Then I'm sounding wrong 'cause you're not." Spike's   
words had been little more than breath in the night.   
"*That's* the scary part."  
  
"I don't understand."  
  
"It's complicated."  
  
They had sat watching the ash of his cigarette grow to   
a gravity defying length. Buffy had waited for it to   
break and fall to the ground, but Spike had sat so   
perfectly still that the ash had continued to grow  
with the silence. Buffy had wanted to say something,   
anything to break the quiet, to bring the conversation   
to a close or to at least open a new one. However, it   
had been Spike who had spoken.   
  
"You know those blokes who lose a limb," he had murmured.   
"They talk about phantom pain. Part of them was severed,   
cut away, but they remember how it felt when it was there.   
Sometimes it feels like it's *still* there--even though   
it's not. I feel like that sometimes." He had faced Buffy.   
  
Buffy had asked breathlessly, "Is there a hole inside  
you? I mean...um...where the parts used to be."  
  
Spike had shrugged. "I don't feel empty if that's  
what you're asking. Never have."  
  
"So what fills you up?" They both knew they were   
talking about his soul, or rather his lack thereof.   
"What takes the missing part's place?"  
  
"Don't know, love. Whatever is handy I 'spose.   
Rage, obsession, despair, whatever is our personal   
raison d'etre."   
  
Spike had dropped his cigarette to the ground. "And   
none of this has anything to do with you. *You've*   
got your parts." Spike had shot her a leering,   
wolfish smile. "I checked."  
  
Buffy had rolled her eyes, but to her own surprise she   
had also returned his smile.  
  
Spike had reached out then, had lifted his hand and  
almost touched her hair, had almost touched *her.*  
But even as his hand had hovered close to her Spike   
must have seen something reflected in her face because   
he had a abandoned the telling gesture to rise to his   
feet. Shoving his hands into his pockets Spike had said   
gruffly, "You may be confused, pet, but you're whole.   
You believe that, don't you?"  
  
"Maybe, I do."  
  
"Right then. Glad we cleared that up." He must have   
sensed her hesitation. "What's the rest, love?"  
  
Buffy had heard herself blurting, "Dawn is spending the   
night at a friend's. Willow and Tara are at some Wiccan   
lecture. And Anya has Xander picking out china."  
  
"Pshaw! Is that all?"  
  
"First, no, that's not 'all,' and second, no one born   
after 1850 says 'pshaw!'"  
  
"1854 actually, and if that's not all, what's the   
rest?"   
  
"They had plans for tonight! Plans they made last week.   
I wasn't here last week. I didn't make plans."  
  
"Yeah, that would've been difficult." Again Buffy had   
punched Spike in the shoulder. "Ow!" He had glowered   
at her. "What was that for?"  
  
"I don't know, I..." Buffy had looked around. Nope.  
Trees and gravestones didn't have answers. "I just  
need to hit something and you're convenient."  
  
"Maybe I should be *inconvenient* then."  
  
"They made plans without me." It was irrational.   
Buffy had known it even as she said it, but there it   
had been. "They did things without me. I died and the   
world didn't end."  
  
"That was sort of the point, wasn't it?"  
  
Buffy's unfocused anger had dissipated, and suddenly   
she had felt very small and very lost. "They went on   
without me."  
  
"They missed you, Buffy. You weren't forgotten."  
  
Her head had felt fuzzy. "They didn't forget me, but   
they went on without me." Her gaze had snapped to meet   
Spike's. "You said I haven't changed, and I haven't.   
*They* have though. Willow is stronger than ever.  
Tara isn't brain sucked. Xander and Anya are getting   
married. Giles moved to London, and Dawn is now an   
inch taller than I am!"  
  
Spike's eyes had become a shadowed, darker blue and   
his sharply sculpted features had seemed to soften.   
"They're only human, Buffy. Besides, the Scoobs are   
young. Lots of changes at that age."  
  
"It's not fair," she had whispered.  
  
"No. It's not. I can quote the cliché if you'd like  
--the one about life." The corner of his mouth had   
quirked. "I can even bring up the one about it being   
a bitch, but I'd have to add an addenda after the   
'then you die' bit." At her unwavering stare Spike  
had added, "No, it isn't fair. You die and the world   
doesn't stop. Everyone goes on without you."  
  
"Is that what it was like for you?"  
  
Spike had blinked. "Why are you asking that, pet?"  
  
She had shrugged. "I'm curious. Did they go on without   
you like nothing had happened? I mean before you   
returned and killed them all."  
  
Spike had staggered backward. "Where in the bloody  
hell did you hatch that idea?" He had even managed to   
look offended. "What? Do you think after Dru killed me in   
that stable I returned home late one night and murdered   
my Mum and kid sis?"  
  
Buffy hadn't nodded but her answer must have been clear   
in her eyes.   
  
A muscle had jumped in Spike's jaw. "You know just   
because Angelus had some weird hang-up about his father   
and decided to get his jollies by chopping down his   
family tree doesn't mean I did the same. Mum wasn't   
perfect, but she didn't deserve to die."  
  
"Neither did a lot of your victims."  
  
Spike's indignation had seemed to dissipate. "Maybe,"   
At her arched brow he had conceded, "Okay, no they  
didn't, but they also weren't my Mum."  
  
For some reason, Buffy hadn't questioned Spike's sincere   
horror at the thought. Maybe some people--maybe a lot   
of people--would say she was naïve to believe him. Spike  
was a proven liar. He was a vampire and made no effort to  
hide that fact. Maybe it was *because* he had never  
made an effort to hide his sins that Buffy was inclined  
to believe him. "So life went on without William the   
Bloody," she had concluded softly.  
  
Spike had sniffed. "Life didn't even pause to notice  
William the Bloody got off the soddin' ride."  
  
  
TBC  



	4. Understanding

  
Buffy had wrapped her arms around herself and stared  
into the night. The graveyard was quiet as. . .well,  
as quiet as a graveyard if the graveyard was anywhere   
but Sunnydale. Spike must have been doing a good job   
of slaying in her absence.   
  
Great, another thing to prove she wasn't really needed.  
They now had Spike the *Vampire* Slayer.  
  
"Buffy," Spike had said quietly into the dark. "I think   
there's something you need to see."  
  
She had shivered. "Oh no. The last time I heard that..."  
Spike had what? Pulled her head out of the sand? Shown   
her what Riley had been doing behind her back? Lead her  
to a truth she had ignored but needed to see?   
  
Gathering her courage Buffy had asked, "So where are we   
going?"  
  
"First off, to my crypt. Need a change of clothes.  
This blue goo is rank."  
  
Buffy had smiled. "I noticed."  
  
"Don't grin, Blondie, you're covered in the stuff  
as well."  
  
After arriving at Spike's crypt Buffy had drawled, "So   
one of the great mysteries of Sunnydale is about to be   
solved."  
  
Spike had rummaged through a wooden chest behind the   
sarcophagus but had paused long enough to shoot her a   
questioning glance. "And what would that be, pet?"  
  
"Whether you actually own more than one set of clothes.  
What's the truth? Is there a stack of black t-shirts   
and jeans in that trunk?"  
  
He had pulled off his shirt and tossed it to the   
side. "What do you think?"  
  
Buffy had thought for a lean guy, Spike was amazingly   
well sculpted. Really...amazing.  
  
Oh! She had *so* not meant to notice that. She should   
have been struck blind for noticing that. . .even if it   
*was* hard to miss.   
  
"You should see him naked."  
  
God, Buffy had the suspicion the Buffybot had been right.   
She bet Spike looked good naked, but seeing him naked?   
No. Never. That would be *wrong.*  
  
Buffy had quickly turned around and stared at the candles.   
Lots and lots of candles. Spike had dozens of them. It was   
a fire hazard...and kind of atmospheric. Out of the corner   
of her eye she had seen him walk across the room and push   
back the cover to--  
  
Buffy had squeezed her eyes shut. Oh no, not there. Not  
down there. She had opened one eye and seen Spike   
disappear into the tunnel and all the reasons she   
should *not* have gone to his crypt had tumbled through   
her mind.   
  
"Spike, what in the hell are you doing?" she had   
growled.  
  
He had answered but Buffy had been unable to make   
out the words. . .and was that *water* she heard?!  
  
She had stepped cautiously toward the opening to the  
tunnel. "Spike," she had said warningly. "I am never,  
let me repeat *never,* going to go down there so what   
are you doing?"  
  
"I *said* I was taking a shower. Are you deaf?"  
  
A shower. Well that made sense. Wait. No. She poked  
her head through the hole to the tunnel. "Did you   
just say *shower*?"  
  
"Uh, yeah, that would be the word. You recognize it?"  
  
Buffy had glanced around. The tunnel had looked much the   
same as before--sans Buffy shrine and, yes, she had   
thanked God for that--but Buffy hadn't seen a sign of Spike   
or a shower. . .another thing for which she should have  
given thanks. Buffy hadn't wanted to see a naked Spike;   
and, yes, she had been aware of the double entendre; and,   
no, she hadn't been lying to herself despite what the   
little voice in the back of her head had said. She had  
only wished that voice would stop reminding her of how   
nicely sculpted his chest had been...and his back...  
and...   
  
"Spike, how can you have a shower down there?"  
  
"How can you have a shower in your house? Tap a water  
main, find a hot water heater, visit Home Depot for the  
rest."  
  
"And terrorize a plumber into installing it for you,"   
Buffy had quipped as she sat back on her heels at the   
edge of the opening to the tunnel. "'Cause most crypts   
don't come equipped with hot and cold running water."   
Or electricity and television sets for that matter,   
Buffy had privately thought.  
  
"Didn't need a plumber. Did it myself." Spike had   
emerged from the tunnel dressed in black t-shirt and  
jeans. Must have been a short shower with no time spared  
for a hair dryer afterwards. His scruffy platinum blonde   
head was soaking wet. At her incredulous look Spike had   
shrugged. "What can I say, I'm a handy guy to have around."  
  
Yeah, real handy. "So you can give the glorified   
brick layer a run for his money?"  
  
Spike looked at her blankly. "Why would I want to do   
that? Not my style."  
  
Not his style. Right. . . but he had still installed a bathroom  
in the tunnel. Could things get any stranger?  
  
As she and Spike had exited his crypt, Spike had chuckled.   
"In this our magic world filled with beasties, baddies, and   
resurrection spells it's my having a shower that confuses   
you?"  
  
"Not confused, exactly."  
  
"Demon," Spike had warned just as the last remaining  
Lazuli chose to make a sneak attack.   
  
Pivoting swiftly, Buffy had landed a roundhouse kick   
squarely in the demon's solar plexus just as Spike hopped   
to take a seat on a gravestone off to the side.  
  
Buffy had glared at the vamp. "Aren't you going to   
help?" The Lazuli had regained his footing and was  
charging toward her.  
  
"What? And get blue stuff all over my nice clean togs?  
I just took a shower, y'know."  
  
Buffy had punched the Lazuli in the nose and kneed him   
in the groin but had kept her attention focused on   
Spike. "So what happened to 'handy guy?'"  
  
"I'm still handy." Opening his jacket Spike had removed  
a gleaming machete and tossed it to her.   
  
Buffy had caught it by the handle and with an effortless   
turn decapitated the demon with one stroke. She looked   
down at herself. "More blue glue. This outfit is a   
total loss."  
  
Spike rose from his seat. "I always thought so. All   
bulky and not figure flattering. Really, Summers, what's   
become of your sartorial style?"  
  
"Remind me why I keep you around."  
  
"I'm handy, remember?" He had approached her, an elegantly  
graceful predator of the night, but his smile hadn't been   
predatory. It had been smug and somewhat pleased. "Now   
admit it. You enjoyed the fight. Made you feel alive."  
  
"So?"  
  
"So enjoy it--being alive, living. The alternative, while   
peaceful, doesn't offer many opportunities to get your   
juices flowin' or make you feel all tingly. It's not   
very challenging and doesn't make your senses buzz."  
  
And Buffy had admitted to herself that Spike had a   
point. It hadn't been about the fight or the violence.  
It had been about the heady pleasure of existence and  
its physicality. It just *felt* good.   
  
As Spike had led the way out of the graveyard Buffy had   
watched him more closely than usual. Had Spike given her   
a glimpse into why he did so many of the things he did?   
Was that why he embraced action and battle in addition   
to things like hot chocolate, spicy chicken wings and   
sex? Did those things make him feel alive? No wonder   
he was such a hedonist.  
  
"So what's next?" she had asked.  
  
"Next, Revello Drive and a shower for the Slayer."  
  
"And then?"  
  
And then had come the long, dark drive to L.A.--not   
that Buffy had known L.A. had been their destination.   
  
They had fought over the CD player. Spike had wanted   
the Sex Pistols. Buffy had told him that listening to   
that screeching only gave her a headache. Spike, of   
course, had been outraged that she had called it   
'screeching.' He had then whined about her most probably   
wanting to listen to those wankers N'Sync. Didn't she   
recognize third rate, pre-packaged pop when she heard   
it? Spike had then spent ten minutes complaining   
about their latest CD until Buffy had pointed out he   
knew *way* too much about N'Sync.  
  
Spike had muttered something about hanging around   
Niblet too much. It had actually been a comfort, though   
shockingly not a surprise, to know Spike had kept his   
promise to watch over her sister.  
  
When Spike had parked his car in front of the Hyperion,   
Buffy had been clueless about where they were and  
why. She had looked at the mostly dark building then  
widened her eyes and theatrically gasped. "It's a   
building! We don't have buildings in Sunnydale!"  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Could live without the sarcasm,  
Slayer."  
  
"I always thought sarcasm was one of my better qualities."   
Then she had noticed that something Spike's shadowed gaze  
meant that he was being serious. "Where are we and why?"   
she had asked gravely. For once her voice had been   
completely devoid of suspicion. Somehow she just knew   
he was doing this for her...whatever 'this' was.  
  
"This--" Spike had gestured toward the hotel. "--is  
Angel's new digs."   
  
Buffy's head had snapped around. "But I thought..."  
She frowned. "Didn't he live somewhere else?"  
  
Spike shrugged. "After the thing with the hellbitch  
Red came to tell the poof..." Spike paused and fiddled  
with the CD player, turning the sound way down. "Anyway,   
turns out magnificent poof moved some time last year."   
  
Buffy had studied the unfamiliar building. "I don't   
understand. Why did you bring me here? I mean *you*...  
You hate Angel."  
  
"Yeah. But I don't hate you." God, when had Spike ever  
been capable of looking so solemn? "You need this,"  
he had told her in his soft, rich voice.  
  
Buffy had searched Spike's face trying to figure how a  
supposedly soulless creature was capable of some of   
the acts of generosity she had seen in Spike. There  
were humans who couldn't make the kinds of selfless  
gestures that Spike sometimes performed with astounding   
grace.  
  
His features, so sharply chiseled, so startlingly handsome,   
had remained gentle. "You said that the Scoobs had gone   
on without you. They had changed. That's only to be   
expected in the young." Spike had looked at the building   
while Buffy studied his profile. "Four months feels like a   
lifetime to the young. But to a vampire, it's a heartbeat."   
The deep timbre of his voice seemed to fill the confines of   
the car and envelope her with a curious warmth. "A single  
heartbeat." Spike had tilted his head slightly. "Go on, love."  
  
"Aren't you coming?"  
  
"Phaw! You're kiddin' right?" Spike had shaken his head.  
"Nah, I think we'll save the fang gang reunion for another   
night. This is for you."  
  
He had reached across her, and unlike the last February   
when she had jumped and pulled away, Buffy had remained   
still and all too aware of the scent of soap and old   
leather. If Spike had been human she would have felt   
his body heat as he had opened the passenger door.   
  
When he had pulled away Buffy had stepped out of the car.  
"Wait!" she had said before he moved to close it behind  
her. "Where are you going?"   
  
"You don't need me here."  
  
"Yeah, but..." Buffy had glanced back at the unfamiliar  
building. "What if Angel's out fighting evil and helping  
the helpless or something? What if no one is home? I   
wouldn't want to be stranded alone here."  
  
"There's a light inside and I've seen shadows moving   
about."  
  
"Yeah but..." Buffy had shifted uncomfortably on her  
feet. Honestly, had she actually tried to talk Spike  
out of leaving? "What if I need a ride home or something?   
Dawn is supposed to be back first thing in the morning   
and taking a bus is--ew." Not that the DeSoto hadn't   
been. Buffy didn't want to contemplate what half the   
stains were on the seats. Okay, that was a lie. Buffy   
didn't want to contemplate what *any* of the stains   
were on the seats.  
  
Spike had grasped her hand, his fingers pleasantly cool  
against her skin. Out of his pocket he had produced  
a felt tip pen and, turning her hand over, he had written   
an address on her palm. "I'll be there if you need me."  
  
They had remained transfixed in the moonlight for   
several moments. A lot of improbable and generally   
assumed impossible things had happened to two of them   
over their lifetimes. Spike had been turned into a   
vampire. Buffy had become a Slayer. They had both   
died in some form or another and been brought to fight   
another day. Yet the most astounding thing to Buffy   
was that after everything that had happened they had   
stared silently at one another in the moonlight. She and   
Spike had once been mortal enemies and now. . .   
they weren't.   
  
Buffy couldn't name what it was between them. She   
knew Spike loved her, but his love didn't a relationship  
make. There was no title or definition for what  
ran between them and held them together, it simply   
was.  
  
One thing Buffy had admitted to herself when Spike had   
finally shut the door, was the simple fact she didn't   
want to see Spike go. Spike was the one who didn't   
leave, who *never* left. As hard as she sometimes   
pushed, he refused to go. It didn't seem to matter   
what she did or didn't do, Spike stayed. It was   
comforting in a frustrating kind of way, and it felt...right.  
  
As Spike had driven away Buffy had known he wasn't   
really going. He would be in Sunnydale tomorrow. He   
would annoy her at The Bronze tomorrow night. The  
scary thing as the antique car turned the corner, was   
Buffy's realization that at some point she had come  
to depend on Spike's always being there, on his being a  
constant in her life. She also had come to realize  
it would hurt to ever see him go.   
  
Now when in the hell had *that* happened?  
  
"Not the most talkative couple I've ever seen," Gunn  
muttered dragging Buffy back to the present. She   
looked up at Angel--*way* up at Angel. She had always   
felt so damn small around him. Angel could hold out his   
arm and she could walk under it just like she had done   
with her father when she was ten.   
  
Angel seemed so broad and physically imposing. It   
wasn't a strength thing. Buffy knew she could throw   
him across the room--not that she would. It was just   
he was so tall that she never felt she could look him   
straight in the eye, not like. . .  
  
Buffy pulled away from the thought but even as she did  
the question which had haunted her all night rose again  
in her mind. Why was she here? Was she here because   
she had needed to see Angel? Because she had needed to   
tell Angel she wasn't dead? She was tempted to say it  
was to lessen Angel's grief and guilt, and maybe she   
had done that. But Buffy had to admit that his friend Gunn   
had done a better job of dragging Angel out of guilt mode  
than she had.   
  
Was she only here because Spike had brought her here   
and left her at the door? Uh-uh. No way. She would have  
had to have faced Angel. She had wanted to see him and  
would have. . .if not tonight then soon. Then it struck  
Buffy that it was less of a mystery why she was here than  
why Spike--Spike of all creatures--had brought her here.   
  
Buffy knew she could be oblivious to others' feelings,   
but when a guy was willing to be tortured to death because   
of his feelings for her, even Buffy tended to notice.   
Spike could not have *wanted* to bring her to Angel's door  
so why had he?  
  
"Three months feels like a lifetime to the young, but  
to a vampire it's a heartbeat, a single heartbeat."  
  
Buffy had complained to Spike about how the others had  
gone on with their lives without her. It was selfish  
she knew, but it was honest, visceral, and real.   
Anya and Xander planned a wedding. Willow and Tara  
attended school. Dawn had begun piecing together a life   
as a real, live girl. They had grown, changed, and   
moved a few more steps toward their future. It wasn't   
their fault that Buffy felt as though she was out of   
sync and out of place. The world had revolved without   
her and now she was no longer sure where she fit, where  
she belonged.  
  
"To a vampire it's a heartbeat, a single heartbeat."  
  
Buffy looked at Angel. Was that what Spike had brought  
her here to see? That Angel hadn't changed?   
  
Her gaze fell to Fred and Gunn. If that had been the  
point Spike had been trying to make he had failed. Angel   
*had* changed. Oh, it had taken far longer than three   
months. It had taken years, but Angel had changed. He  
had friends she didn't know. He lived in a place she   
had never seen. He had *smiled* and the smile had   
reached all the way to his eyes. Buffy couldn't   
remember ever having seen that before.  
  
Angel had changed, and it was a good change, a healthy  
change, a change she had no right to resent. But it   
separated them in a way the curse never had.  
  
Angel had a life in L.A. He had friends here. Friends  
who did him a world of good. Friends he depended on for  
perspective while those same friends looked to Angel for  
help. This was Angel's life. His. And it was going   
somewhere. It was leading him to happiness--a non-evil   
Angelus happiness. Buffy wasn't sure how, but it was   
written all over him as he listened to something Fred  
was saying to him.   
  
Suddenly Buffy knew. She just knew. Angel had a future,   
and it was here and wasn't her.  
  
God, why *was* she here again?  
  
"To a vampire it's a heartbeat, a single heartbeat."  
  
Damnit, Spike, you were wrong! I know you haven't seen  
Angel in years so you couldn't know, but you were wrong,  
Buffy silently raged. Angel has grown. He's changed,   
and he's done those things without me.  
  
She glanced at the address written in her palm.  
  
You know, Spike, I hope you're sitting there waiting for  
me to show up because I'm going to. I'm going to tell you  
just how wrong you were.  
  
And then that little evil voice, the one that told Buffy   
things she didn't want to hear, just *had* to speak up  
one more time. It just *had* to ask, "Was he *really*  
wrong or did it depend on his point of view?"  
  
Buffy closed her eyes. Okay, it didn't take a genius  
to figure this thing out. Buffy may not have finished  
her Psychology 101 class without her professor going   
psycho and creating a Frankenstein monster who had wanted  
to kill her, but Buffy had stuck with the class long enough  
to know about transference.  
  
Spike probably had believed that Angel's world had stopped  
when Buffy had died. Spike believed that for a vamp like  
himself four months was nothing more than a heartbeat.   
It was just the vampire Spike had been speaking of   
hadn't been Angel. It had been himself. It had been   
Spike's world that had stopped.  
  
Buffy swallowed. She had known that, right? She had  
known it from the moment she gazed into Spike's eyes  
when she had found him in the cemetery. She had known  
it when he had given her that sad smile in the moonlight  
before sending her inside to see Angel.   
  
Buffy read the address written in her palm and knew  
that Spike was waiting for her, not because he expected   
her to show up but because that's what he did. He watched   
for the moments when he might be needed and he was there.  
He waited.  
  
Buffy blinked and her chaotic emotions seemed to settle  
into some sort of order. Looks like she wasn't out of step   
with *everyone.* As she stood on tiptoe to kiss Angel lightly   
on the lips, Buffy discovered that she had many of the   
answers she had so desperately needed to find. Angel   
hadn't given her those answers. Spike had provided many   
of them, but it had taken seeing Angel for her to realize it.  
  
"I'm happy you're back," Angel told her, and Buffy could  
see the truth of it in his sherry brown eyes.  
  
She remembered Spike reassuring her, "They missed you,  
Buffy. You weren't forgotten."  
  
No, Buffy hadn't been forgotten and, yes, she had been  
missed. But life went on. Angel's, Willow's, Xander's,  
and Dawn's lives had gone on, and Buffy didn't resent  
it any longer. Envied it a little, but she didn't resent it.  
  
Now it was time to get on with the living. Time to   
face new challenges and strike new paths. She couldn't   
spend forever holding onto the past, or just sitting  
stagnant in the present because she was frightened that  
the future would take her to a place she had once thought   
she would never go. Preconceived ideas of where she   
belonged fell away because life couldn't be planned in   
exacting detail. Life had to be lived, to be experienced,   
to be enjoyed.   
  
Buffy smiled at Angel, her fingers still touching the   
silk of his shirt, her lips still feeling his kiss. It was a   
sense memory, but that was all it was. And that was   
*not* a bad thing because with the acceptance of the   
memory came the knowledge that her pain was no   
longer there.  
  
Before, when she had looked at Angel she had been   
filled with hurt, hurt over what they couldn't have, for   
all the things that could never work. Now, Buffy could   
look back and remember the good times they had shared.   
She remembered the bad times as well, but she also   
remembered that the world hadn't ended. She hadn't   
been destroyed. Not even the bad memories packed the   
punch they used to because they were only memories.   
Buffy wasn't in that place any more. It wasn't her   
life any more. Her life was in the here and now and   
somewhere in Sunnydale.  
  
"I needed to see you," Buffy murmured as she became  
filled with self understanding. "I needed to tell you  
I was alive, that I'm okay now." She knew her smile was  
big and glowing smile and free of pain. "And I need to   
go back to Sunnydale."   
  
Buffy stepped back, Angel slipping out of her reach  
but she was okay with that too. "I'm glad things  
are going so well for you here in L.A." she told him.   
"It's great to see. I'm glad you've found friends,   
and some happiness and a purpose."  
  
Angel looked perplexed but agreed with her assessment  
of his life. "I'm glad you're back."  
  
Buffy laughed. "So am I. For the first time since  
I've been back, I'm *glad* about it." She rushed  
forward and gave Angel a peck on the cheek. "But  
now I've really got to go. Someone is waiting for  
me."  
  
Buffy made it out the door, before she realized she  
had to go back. A few seconds later she peeked through   
the Hyperion's door. "Could someone call me a cab?"  
  
***************************************************  
TBC at Caritas (Hey, where did you *think* Spike went? G)   
In the next installment of the series. . .whenever that   
might be.  



End file.
